Remember Who You Are
by xxsewnlipsxx
Summary: Main focus on Desmond's struggle with reality. Series of oneshots about Ezio/Leonardo, Malik/Altair, Shaun/Desmond


**Title: Remember Who You Are**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Main focus on Desmond's struggle with reality. Series of oneshots about Ezio/Leonardo, Malik/Altair, Shaun/Desmond**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

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><p><span>Remember Who You Are<span>

Once upon a time, sleep was not so elusive. Desmond lay staring at the ceiling with an arm thrown over his belly, shirt bunched up. The fan above him rotated slowly, barely producing any cool air. The air conditioning was broken and had been for days. Heat wasn't what was keeping him awake, though. Hardly. He was so exhausted sometimes that he could fall asleep during a nuclear explosion. No, the problem was the dreams. Whispers of courtesans and clashing swords and shouting soldiers jolted him awake. Ezio leapt from tall buildings and fended off guards. Altair argued vehemently with Malik over maps and scolded new members of the Brotherhood.

Every day the men existed in his memories, and every night they haunted his dreams.

Desmond sighed and threw his legs over the bed, rubbing at his face. The clock glowered at him, an electronic reminder of how late and early it really was. On the other side of the small room, Shaun slept soundly with his mouth open, arm hanging off the side with his knuckles scraping the ground. At least the pillow smothered most of his snores. His glasses and shirt were draped over the makeshift table beside his bed. Not long ago he had snuck in to snatch a few precious hours of sleep. He spent so much time typing away on his computer that he was almost as exhausted as Desmond.

Finally tired of tossing and turning, Desmond yanked on his shirt and padded out of the room without a backward glance. The girls were asleep somewhere else in the compound along with several other assassins scattered about in sterile, white rooms in the hallway. The wood floor was warm beneath Desmond's feet as he made his way toward the kitchen. Perhaps there was some coffee left. Maybe something to eat.

Four weeks had passed since Lucy, Desmond, Shaun, and Rebecca were forced to hide away in one of the assassins' headquarters. Twelve others including the four of them lived in the building, and though they were hesitant to accept Desmond at first, they were not openly hostile. His strange night-wandering, increased appetite, and tendency to vault off high places at a moment's notice was ignored for the most part by everyone but his companions. The bleeding effect was only getting worse, and he was becoming more of a liability than an asset.

Somehow watching Desmond had become Shaun's job. Practicality won over sentimentality during that argument. Lucy had raised her hand as high as she could to be picked, but it just didn't work when Desmond had to visit the toilets or sleep or shower. Shaun had grudgingly accepted the position, and Desmond was grateful for it. While Lucy was a kinder, definitely more pleasant person to have following him around all day, she was the type to worry and fret and flutter in his personal space. Shaun occasionally asked him if everything was okay and then went back to work. Sometimes, he followed him around when the bleeding was really bad. Other than that, Shaun left him alone.

Rebecca stayed out of such things. Babysitter wasn't in her job description.

Desmond could hardly blame her.

Of course, Shaun had felt like that at one point, too. Starting out was difficult. He didn't know how to approach it, and Desmond got aggravated at him quickly for it. As far as he was concerned, he didn't _need _a babysitter. That was before he tried to jump off the rafters at an old warehouse in Italy and nearly broke his neck. After that, he allowed Shaun to accompany him to places with high jumping points without a word of protest. He valued his privacy, but he valued his life even more.

Finally he made it into the kitchen. The setup was simple with just a few minor appliances and a table with four chairs in the middle. Because they were underground, space was limited. Most of the assassins ate in their rooms and were gone all day anyway. They only came back to sleep. Desmond wished he could do even that. He would be in the animus all day, and he liked to get a little shuteye before that took place.

Opening the refrigerator, he quickly surveyed what was left over from dinner. Pizza sat on a white plate just in front of him so he reached for it and kicked the door shut. When he checked the coffee pot, there wasn't any made. Between bites of cold cheese and congealing sauce, he searched for the filters. Sometimes the sweet aroma of bad coffee was the only thing that could wake him up. Not that he needed the energy for anything other than lying in the animus and, on occasion, unceremoniously leaping off a nearby zenith.

Desmond finished off the entire slice and turned on the coffee pot. He grabbed another piece before sitting down at the table. Would they spend the entire day reviewing Ezio's memories? Desmond knew them by heart. Every gesture, every lost girl, every thought that had ever passed through the Italian's mind was memorized. Ghosts leaped through walls at him in broad daylight. Women cried out to him for help on crowded streets. Once or twice he had reached for his sword, expecting to use it. How alarming to find that it wasn't there, cold and hard on his hip.

His hand froze in those instants. He didn't know what to do without a weapon, no hidden blades, surrounded. How reassuring to have Shaun's resigned hands on his shoulders, leading him away with apologies and grumbles. How terrible that it needed to be done in the first place.

The cold pizza sat unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. He'd never cared for cold food, but the microwave didn't work. Perhaps the warm coffee would wash it down. He could only hope. As the hot water poured into the ground powder, the aroma drifted through the air. The smell was familiar at the very least. It seemed an eternity ago that he'd been in his own apartment calmly sipping his own brew right before heading to work. Those days were long gone.

Desmond's ears pricked up as he heard a door open in the hallway. Instinctively, his hand went to his hip, but nothing was there of course. He checked himself with a curse, shaking his head to clear it. He breathed deep the scent of spiced coffee, something foreign to Ezio's time in Firenze. He pressed his toes into the cold linoleum and held tight to the sensation as someone in pajamas peered around the corner curiously. In a second, Desmond's heartbeat slowed. Shaun's frown put him at ease, no matter how disapproving it was.

"You bloody idiot," he snapped. "Don't you know how dangerous it is for you to run off in the middle of the night?"

"I'm not running anywhere," Desmond immediately defended. "I'm sitting right here. See? Waiting on coffee." He pointed at the machine.

"Don't go anywhere by yourself," Shaun said hotly, crossing his arms. "I already get an earful from Lucy because I don't follow your every doomed little step. If she found out I _lost _you, God have mercy on my sinful little soul."

"Well, now you know where I am. Feel free to go back to bed." The picking and huffy little remarks didn't stop just because they were getting used to each other. Hell, Shaun had known both Lucy and Rebecca for years, and he continued to nag them both like a cranky housewife every single day.

"Thanks for waking me, by the way," Shaun grumbled, slumping over to the refrigerator and glancing inside. Like Desmond, he was accustomed to eating early and simply getting it out of the way. They all were, really. Food had no taste when the world was about to end.

Desmond shifted positions, placing his foot on the table stand and throwing an arm around over the back of his chair. Somewhere along the line, between visions and memories, balance stopped being an issue. He knew how to twist to stay upright. He knew his exact weight, how much it would take to tip over, and how quickly he would have to react to keep from falling. Acrobatics that took years to master became second nature. He could scale a skyscraper if he wanted to and not take a plunge. Well, until he got to the top and the bleeding effect forced him to think there was a pile of hay in the middle of a concrete sidewalk thousands of feet below.

"Ezio," a familiar voice called to him, and he glanced up sharply to see the rough outline of Leonardo staring at him with concern. The sound was strained, as though heard from the bottom of a well. The inventor was incorporeal, streaked with grey and shimmering against the surrounding colors like a rainbow reflected against water. Desmond could just make out the bones of his face and the faint luminescence of his otherworldly eyes before he disappeared, fading into nothingness. Desmond shook his head and covered his eyes.

A warm hand pressed gently against his shoulder. Shaun was staring curiously at him. "You okay?" he asked, setting a mug of hot coffee in front of him. When he made it, Desmond wasn't sure.

"Just…yeah, never mind," he gripped the cup and felt the pleasurable warmth seep into his cold fingers, the smell soothing his mind. Not often did Leonardo pop into his day. Tragedies were the loudest memories, often shouting for his attention. Burning buildings and screaming women could really drive him insane at times.

"It _is _getting worse," Shaun muttered to himself, sitting opposite him with a thoughtful expression on his face. "What did you see?"

"Leonardo," Desmond shrugged.

"We're going to have to figure this out," he answered to himself. "This simply won't do. You're not much of a weapon when you're trying to fight ghosts."

"Gee, thanks for that shocking update," Desmond growled with exasperation. He was tired of being treated like a weapon. He was tired of not getting any sleep. He was tired of seeing things that did not exist. Most of all, he was tired of no one _fucking caring._ "I'm going upstairs." Maybe running a few hours on the treadmill would exhaust him enough that the dreams wouldn't come.

He stood and dumped the coffee into the sink without taking a sip. Shaun turned around in his chair. "You're not going, because I'm not coming with you," he said firmly.

"I don't _need _your _permission_," Desmond whipped around, eyes flashing. He zipped up his hoodie and walked out, feeling a little light-headed at the outburst. Desmond was far more irritable since the dreams began, though he had every right to be. Still, Shaun's controlling behavior never used to get to him as badly. In addition he had terrible headaches and tired easily whenever taxed with something physical. Even walking made him want to stop and rest for a moment. Yet he couldn't go to sleep.

At the foot of the stairs, he sighed at the challenge presented and mounted the first. The elevator was broken and had been since they'd arrived. The area of the complex the assassins actually used was so small that the elevator was an unnecessary addition anyway. Still, Desmond would have appreciated it as he made it halfway up the stairs and closed his eyes as the world spun. Suddenly someone grabbed his shoulder.

"Bloody idiot," Shaun cursed at him. "You can't even make it up the damn stairs, and you think you're going to what? Play around in the gym?"

"You don't have to babysit me," Desmond bit out half-heartedly as Shaun guided him back down the stairs, one arm around his waist.

"Looks like I do," he said scathingly. "If you're that hard up for sleep, we could sedate you."

"Yeah," Desmond rolled his eyes. "Then what would you do without looking through Ezio's memories for a day?" At the bottom of the stairs, he shook away from the hold and leaned against the wall with his eyes closed.

"Stop being a brat. I think we can manage. I'm offering you the chance to rest," Shaun spat. "Even though the world is on the verge of being taken over, and freedom as we know it might well be destroyed, I suppose you can take a nap if you must."

"You're such a giver."

"Yeah," Shaun tugged on him, his eyes softening. "Come on. I'll fetch the sedatives from the first-aid kit. You can have the day, I guess."

Relief flooded through him at the very thought of getting _some _rest even if it was chemically-induced. Desmond gave a brilliant smile, laced with gratitude. "Thanks."

Shaun might have hated the job, but he wasn't that bad of a babysitter.

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><p><strong>In honor of Revelations, which I'm waiting breathlessly for. Thanks for reading. Review please.<strong>


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